


Breathe or you're going to fade

by Close_enough_to_lose



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: (Murdoc is a mlm and he was 15 at the beginning of the 80s i kinda have to go there), (mostly), Alcoholism, All relationships are past relationships, CSA, Canon Compliant, Canonical Child Abuse, Character Study, Content warnings:, Demon Deals, Drug Use, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, HIV/AIDS, Internalized Homophobia, Minor Character Death, Multi, Murdoc is trans, Past Sexual Assault, Physical Abuse, STIs, Satanism, Sexual Assault, Slurs, Soul Selling, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Character, Transphobia, Trauma, Violence, chapter-specific warnings in fic, dark humour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-09-28 10:28:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17181239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Close_enough_to_lose/pseuds/Close_enough_to_lose
Summary: “Some scars never heal.No, Murdoc was not thinking of the scars on his chest: those were almost perfectly invisible. It was the one thing in his life that went right. No, his scars — at the risk of sounding cheesy — were just under his chest. Those truly were invisible, but they never properly healed.”Or,A retelling of the Gorillaz lore where Murdoc Niccals (Gorillaz founding father, musical messiah, lover, etc.)  is a trans man who sells his soul for fame, recognition, and a different body.





	1. Growing up

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes before reading:  
> -Major content warnings are indicated in the fic tags,  
> -Each chapter will have its own, specific warnings,  
> -This fic has mentions of past relationships, but there will be no main romantic arc.
> 
> The title of the fic is a reference to [Don't Panic - Years & Years](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5QDaQFTWSi0)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: since this chapter is about Murdoc’s childhood, major warning for child sexual assault, abusive parenting and physical violence. I do not describe these events in detail, but better safe than sorry.

Some scars never heal.

No, Murdoc was not thinking of the scars on his chest: those were almost perfectly invisible. It was the one thing in his life that went right. No, his scars — at the risk of sounding cheesy — were just under his chest. Those truly were invisible, but they never properly healed. 

During the course of his life, Murdoc’s soul was bruised, maimed, and abused. When he got tired of carrying such a burden, he sold it. Whatever remained of his conscience, he drowned in alcohol. Over the years he had been torn open and clumsily resewn, broken then haphazardly put back together by forces that no person in their right mind would think messing with, cut and then glued back, but never to be fully whole again.

Like any good Freudian story, Murdoc’s started with his father, who he despised with a murderous rage. (Un?)fortunately for Murdoc, he did not know his mother, so _that_ part of his Oedipal complex never developed. Murdoc shuddered at the thought of fucking his unknown mother. He was depraved, but he had _standards_.

Murdoc clearest childhood memory was the smell of alcohol. It permeated everything: it soaked into the walls of his home and spoiled the breath of all of his family members. It accompanied every single of his father’s screams and blows, it stuck to his clothes, and it followed him around wherever he went. And once the smell and all that it meant became too overwhelming, which happened soon enough in his teenage years, Murdoc drowned it with the alcohol’s taste. After all, not only did alcohol make you feel like you were not entirely present, but it also numbed your physical pain if you drank enough of it. And that was something he desperately needed.

It was no secret that Murdoc’s father physically abused him. And while the bruises all over Murdoc’s body were too ugly, too frequent, too regular to be a result of an accident, none of his teachers paid them any attention, or when they did, they dismissed it as regular “disciplining” as they called it, even though they knew very well that Sebastian Niccals was a man with no sense of discipline at all. In fact, some teachers were more than happy to add more bruises on his hands with their wooden rulers whenever they felt like Murdoc was not behaving properly. Murdoc also had an older brother, Hannibal, who would as well show up to school with scars and bruises along his arms and occasionally on his face. But of course, the adults dismissed it as a coincidence, or as the unfortunate result of the siblings’ play-fighting. In this case, they were not entirely wrong. As in, Hannibal would take out his own frustrations on Murdoc as well: they were not _play_ fighting: they fought, full stop. Having no healthy outlet for his suffering, Hannibal copied his father, and piled all his sorrows on Murdoc.

The world gave Murdoc no allies. Adults were untrustworthy, and his own brother, depending on his mood, would either side with him, or follow their father’s example and beat him too. Sebastian, while cruel to both his children, seemed to reserve the worst humiliations for Murdoc, forcing him to perform and sing, dressed in ridiculous costumes, in front of a drunken crowd at The Three-Legged Dog, the local pub, simply to pay for Sebastian’s alcohol. Hannibal would make fun of his performances, as if it was not already difficult having to deal with neighbours who kept discussing the singing of Sebastian’s “pitiful daughter.”

At that time, Murdoc was not exactly accepted as a boy. He didn’t have a boy’s name back then, people used “she” and “young lady” to talk to him, and he did not have a body like the other boys he knew. His only relief was that his appearance was ambiguous enough so that strangers did not think he was a girl at first sight. When he was not wearing a humiliating costume on Sebastian’s orders, even his neighbours did not recognize him if he walked by fast enough. He did dress in his brother’s clothes, but that was out of poverty rather than out of choice, although for once he was glad he could hide his preferences under the guise of necessity.

While some adults chose to ignore the vulnerability of the child, others took full advantage of it. 

Sometimes, in fact most times, Murdoc did not have much to eat for lunch at school. His father did not bother the prepare lunch, so Murdoc had to take whatever he found. Sometimes, there was nothing to find, because his father, in a drunken stupor, couldn't care less for groceries, or simply wasted all his money — some of it money that Murdoc made — on alcohol.

In the first years of his primary education, the little amounts of food Murdoc would get were, though not sufficient, just enough so he did not feel starved. However, Murdoc was a growing child, and with time, whatever food he had could no longer leave hunger at bay. In Year five, a certain dinner lady at the school cafeteria noticed that he was malnourished, and she had started sneaking him meals, or sometimes a dessert. Even when there was not much left, she still managed to give him scraps. This went on for a month, without much talk in between. Eventually Murdoc started warming up to her, and sometimes she would give him a hug, a caress, a kiss on his forehead. He wondered if that's what it meant to have a mother, to be loved. But soon the caresses and kisses moved down lower, towards parts of himself he hated and he felt like something was going horribly wrong. He didn’t know what relationships his peers had with their parents, but he was perceptive enough to guess that there was no hiding behind dark corners, no sweet lies, no sense of guilt and shame. He was perceptive enough to know that whatever the dinner lady did to him was not meant to be done to children. So Murdoc stopped going to the cafeteria altogether, and hid in empty classrooms to eat — if existent — his meager lunch, trying not to think about what having a full stomach had cost him. Back then, he hadn't sold his soul yet, but a piece of it had been broken off.

Adults, then, were not the place to look for support. It did not mean he had stopped hoping for affection, no matter how awkwardly he expressed it. It took him time to recover, if that could be called recovery. In truth, the haunting memory never left him. But he got back up on his feet. He had to. He could not act differently for long. He did not allow himself to flinch away even from the gentlest touch, he had to hide the nausea that grew whenever he smelled the warm cafeteria food, or else his brother or his father would notice. So he did what he does best: ignore and repress. In the meantime, he tried getting closer to people his own age. 

His first love was Kelly O'Driscoll. They had started talking in class, bonding over their mischief. Their relationship did not last long. It reached a comfortable level of intimacy during the end-of-year school trip of the Year six students, and like everything that would follow in Murdoc's life, it ended in disaster.

The trip proved to be a good opportunity for Kelly and Murdoc to discuss their feelings. Murdoc confessed to liking Kelly, and Kelly, to his surprise, seemed to like him back too, despite the fact that to the world, Murdoc was still a girl. However, she still had reservations about their relationship.

“Isn't kissing only something girls do with guys?” she asked.

“God gave us both mouths, so I don’t see why girls can't kiss each other too,” Murdoc confidently replied.

“It's a sin!”

“Then we can repent for it.”

“You know what? You're right. It's not the first time we would be breaking rules.”

She smirked, and they exchanged the same mischievous look they always would before they were about to play a prank on a teacher or sneak out of school together. After a moment of hesitation, their expressions softened, and they closed the gap between their mouths. They were navigating their way through awkward inexperience, trying to do it like in the movies. When it didn't work out, they burst into giggles, and tried again. But their happiness was cut short by their English teacher, who decided to show up at the moment. Panicked, Kelly pushed Murdoc away from her, and then proceeded to attack him, landing a punch on his nose, and kicking him as he fell on the floor. She then pointed an accusatory finger at him, and looked directly into the teacher's eyes.

“It was her! She tried to kiss me! I'm innocent I swear!”

While the teacher approached Kelly to further investigate, Murdoc was trying to recover from the attack. It hurt, but he didn't resent it strongly. It was frank violence, and he could deal with that. It was not like the dinner lady, who hurt him through deception, disguising predation as love. And besides, he would later find out that with his broken nose, he looked less like his father, so he was thankful. Really, the physical pain did not compare to that of betrayal. But he didn't blame her. Under different circumstances, he probably would've done the same. The world was cruel, and to survive, Murdoc discovered, you must sacrifice others.

The teacher called for medical help. While Murdoc was taken care of, the English teacher took Kelly apart. She looked at Murdoc with a mix of regret and fear. That was the last time he ever saw her. 

Murdoc, on the other hand, was taken to a hospital. He was surprised that his spleen has ruptured and that his pelvis broke from Kelly’s kicks. He was so used to pain and mistreatment that he did not register the pain of internal organ damage as too unusual. Once his condition was stabilized, his English teacher subjected him to a lecture on sexual sin in hushed tones. It was more excruciating than his physical pain.

When he was discharged from the hospital, he returned to school and found out that Kelly would not be finishing the year at his school. He also learned that Kelly’s parents made sure she would not be attending the same secondary school as Murdoc next year either. The other students did not seem to know what had happened. He figured that the teachers managed to cover up the story, at least in the eyes of the public. So he pretended nothing had happened too.

At least he tried. Because since the incident, his discomfort grew. The teacher’s lecture on family values had sounded hollow in his ears. If the union of a man with a woman was natural, and therefore, according to the teacher, good, then why was his own family life hellish? He supposed that might be because he only had a father and not a mother, but nevertheless, he was the product of a union between and a woman and a man, and that did not save him from all the horrors he’d lived through in a single decade of life. He didn't have a good experience with women, but the men in his life were violent too. And if God was forgiving, then why wouldn’t he forgive Murdoc for something so innocent as loving Kelly? If God was just, then why were people like Sebastian and the dinner lady still out there, unpunished for their deeds? He kept thinking about all the things he found wrong with the lecture, and inevitably he started thinking about his own identity. He himself didn't exactly know what or who he was. He didn't have the words to explain his feelings. But he didn't like his budding breasts, or the fact that he'd started to bleed from his nether regions. And he didn't like when people called him “young lady”. His given name sounded unfamiliar to his ears. He dismissed this under the guise of trauma and self-doubt. Didn't other girls feel this way too? Wouldn’t other girls feel disconnected from their bodies if they had endured the same things his body did?

No, he found out one fateful day. He was at a small comic book shop when he found the name he wanted to carry for the rest of his life. He often spent his time on the streets, loitering around parks and stores, doing anything to stay away from home for as long as he could. He picked up an issue of Daredevil, listing through it, attempting to read as much as he could for free before the shopkeeper noticed him, but soon he became absorbed.

“Hey there young boy," a booming voice greeted behind him.

“Y-yes?”

Murdoc froze. He was indeed caught, but that wasn't the problem. The worst thing that could happen to him would just be getting booted from the store. No, he froze because the man called him a boy, and Murdoc was not sure whether he should tell him that no, he had a girl’s name and a different body which meant that he wasn't a boy — or did it? — or if he should let it slide and play along. Being called “young boy” felt nice, but what would his family say if they found out that he enjoyed that? He tried to weigh the situation, but his panicked brain wouldn’t let him organize his thoughts.

“I see you ‘round here often. What's your name?” the shopkeeper asked.

Murdoc was too startled to properly read the expression on the man’s face. He was quickly scanning the page of the still-open comic to find something that might be helpful. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw 'Murdock’.

“'s Murdoc! My name is Murdoc!” he blurted, trying to sound natural, though his voice was trembling.

“Oh, like Daredevil, Matt Murdock! Is that why you like him so much?” the shopkeeper asked with a genuine smile on his lips.

“Yes,” Murdoc lied, but letting him speak proved to be the safest option.

“It's rare as a given name, you mostly see it as a surname. That’s really neat. By the way, my name is Matt, like Daredevil too. Your name is much cooler though.”

“Thanks! Nice to meet you, Matt.”

Murdoc was touched by Matt’s simple sincerity. Of course, it was a casual interaction, but since usually, most of the words thrown at Murdoc were insults, a simple compliment was a nice change.

“So,” Matt broke the awkward silence that took place between them, “are you gonna buy it?”

Murdoc averted his eyes. He fumbled the coins in his pocket. He couldn't waste them. It was money that he got for his performances and managed to hide from his father, and he saved them for the days his father would kick him out, without food or shelter. He shook his head.

“Yeah, I figured. I see you on the street pretty often, kid. You got a home?”

“Yeah, but … it's hard.”

“You don't have to talk about it to me. ‘S not my business unless you want it to be. Say what, I'll give you this one for free. It's not every day that you meet someone with a superhero's name.”

Matt grinned at him. Murdoc managed to give him a faint smile in return.

“Thank you sir!” 

“You take care of yourself!” Matt shouted as Murdoc made his way out of the store, waving goodbye. “Make Daredevil proud!” 

Once he got out of Matt’s visual range, he started running. Out of his family's sight, or that of anyone else who knew him, he was a boy for a few minutes. And it felt exciting. Murdoc. He liked that name. It was unique. Given his pride, he wanted to be like no one else, and removed the ‘k’ from the spelling. He hugged the comic against his chest. When he returned home that night, he hid it when no one could find it. To this day the wrinkled copy of the comic remains among Murdoc’s possessions. Murdoc may have been born on June 6th, 1966, but that day was the first one he truly felt alive.

By the time he began secondary school, he had cut his hair short. As adolescence hit, he developed breasts, but he managed to hide them under a tight bra and layers of clothing. His voice did not break like the other boys’, but he’d started smoking, and his voice turned raspier for it. 

His classmates knew his given name; his teachers kept calling him by it. But outside of class, everyone knew him as Murdoc, because they were too afraid of what would happen if they didn't. By that time, Murdoc had developed quite a reputation: he was extremely cunning and he could dig out dirt on anyone to manipulate them. He was not above using physical violence to reach his goals either. He knew from first hand experience that fear will break a person into obedience. Except him, of course, Murdoc’s father never broke him down, he tried to convince himself. He had a feeling that he was special. His grades depended on how much he cared about a subject, even though with effort, he could easily be at the top of his class in every subject. Despite his indifference to most classes and his violent behaviour, even teachers were too afraid to suspend him, because they saw his potential and did not want him to give up on it, but also because no one was safe from his wrath.

During secondary school, Murdoc also found out that the lecture he had received after the Kelly O’Driscoll incident was completely useless: he still most definitely liked girls as well as boys. He was apprehensive about his own desires, because he knew they were deemed wrong: society still perceived him as a girl. However, he was not one to deny them, and God be damned, he would follow his heart. His greatest fear about intimacy stemmed from a different place. He still remembered the dinner lady’s touch, and, on some nights, he felt as if she was there still. Those nights, he would cry, cursing himself for feeling like his body was not his own, for giving himself away just to feel less hungry, even though deep inside he knew that he'd been manipulated and powerless. And that was what hurt the most. So he decided to take power back into his hands.

He started sleeping with older students, not bothering to stay with the same person for too long. There was nothing gentle to his teenage flings. Gentleness, was after all, deceitful. He avoided the romantic types, choosing to sleep with people who did so to simply release their sexual frustration. Some days, he encouraged his partners to humiliate him, to pull his hair or hurt him. He chased strong sensations, just to bury the dinner lady’s touch under the pain. Other times he would ask if he could inflict pain. He would feel a rush of satisfaction as he would pin down his partner, completely at his mercy. He was finally in control.

There was one person with whom he had a short-lived relationship. His name was John Hanson. Sure, Murdoc was wary of intimacy, but he wanted to try a relationship before he decided it was not worth his time. So he dated John for a while, and that’s when he found the love of his life: the bass guitar. John himself was a bit of a dick.

Truth be told, Murdoc only stayed with John as long as he did because he would give him bass lessons whenever he came to his home. Condescending lessons, but lessons nevertheless. With the bass in his hands, Murdoc could momentarily forget his pain, he could express his feelings without needing to speak. When he played the bass, his body, his home life, his memories, all of it, it did not matter, if only for a few minutes. The bass also offered him something he did not have before: a purpose.

But his peace never lasted long, since John was not happy about Murdoc's fast progress, and when he realized Murdoc would surpass his skills in no time, he kept interrupting Murdoc's practice time.

The last straw that made Murdoc put an end their relationship came when he overheard John speaking to his mother. He was hanging out in John's house as usual, but he decided to take a break from the bass to go grab something to eat in the kitchen. He stopped before he got to his destination, intrigued by the raised tone of the conversation coming out of the kitchen. Naturally, Murdoc decided to eavesdrop.

“She's traumatized,” he overheard John say. “With the daddy issues and all, that's why she wants me to call her Murdoc, I think.”

“She's violent! And deranged! I want you to stop dating her,” John's mother ordered.

“No mom, I love-”

Murdoc felt himself burn with rage as he heard John use his deadname. It was one thing when people tried to explain away his manhood through mental illness or trauma, but hearing John use the name Sebastian gave him, that was the ultimate mark of disrespect. He did not expect John to understand everything or to be perfect, but he thought, at the very least, that he respected his name. It turned out he was wrong, so Murdoc decided to humiliate John before he left.

“Now, Mrs. Hanson, that won't be a problem. I don't want to date John anymore, since he didn't bother to learn that my name is Murdoc, even after seven months. But I do recommend you have a good talk with John, because it seems strange that the first person he dates is someone who in every aspect of his life other than his genitals, is a man just like John, don't you think?”

And with that, Murdoc left, not bothering to find out what was the impact of his words. He could not believe that a boy who claimed to love him would betray him that way, when even Hannibal and his father, though mockingly, had started addressing him as Murdoc. But he did not cry. It was simply another confirmation for him that love did not exist. The bass was the only thing he could love without fear; people were out of question. With John gone from his life, Murdoc needed to find his own instrument.

Before he knew it, Murdoc turned sixteen, and he could legally leave secondary school behind, even though he did not complete it. He realized that before he had discovered the bass, he did not have any ambition nor a plan for the future. He simply did not think he would live long enough to have to worry about getting a job or getting out of home. Home. His dad was still alive, though Murdoc hoped that the alcohol would kill him faster. He decided to do what he thought to be logical thing: go home, grab his few most precious possessions, and run away. After all, food and shelter were not a guarantee in the Niccals household, so he decided to try his luck on the streets. From now on, Murdoc was a free man with one goal in mind: find a bass guitar and become a musician.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Details about Murdoc’s childhood were mostly taken from here: https://noisey.vice.com/en_us/article/exva3m/murdocs-guide-to-britain
> 
> Thanks for reading! This is my longest planned work yet, and it will probably have 6-7 more chapters.


	2. Drifting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc tries to survive on the streets. When he gets tired of his condition, he makes a deal with a demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: mentions of sex work, sexual violence, the HIV/AIDS epidemic, allusions to chemsex, dubious consent, alcoholism, (internalized) homophobia, slurs, and suicidal ideation.
> 
> Thanks to Frosty for helping me proofread & D for helping me figure out medical stuff, especially in regards to testosterone!

The first few weeks after he ran were difficult, but not much different than what he had experienced on nights where his father would kick him out of the house. He would try to spend his nights with whatever school acquaintance (that is to say, one of his fuckbuddies) was free at a given moment. Spending the night with someone meant that he was fed at least once a day and that he had a bed to sleep on. On the days he was unlucky, he slept on a bench in an abandoned park and ate whatever remains he could find on restaurant terasses or picnic spots. On other days he ate nothing, and when his hunger went on for too long, he would resort to theft.

Murdoc tried to find a job, but since his documents were still under his legal name, he did not find people who would take him in. Because of his androgynous appearance, potential employers mentally dismissed him before even hearing him out. His homelessness, as well, was not something anyone wanted to deal with. He briefly considered visiting Matt, the comic book seller, but given the numerous times Murdoc had been betrayed by people he considered close to him in the past, Murdoc preferred to avoid the risk of disappointment. He did not want to corrupt one of his only happy memories.

Eventually, he no longer had a place to stay at all. Some of his school acquaintances had started asking about his situation, and scared that they would take advantage of him once they knew, Murdoc avoided the topic. In turn, they found his behaviour suspicious, and the distance between them grew until they became strangers once more. Returning to Stoke-On-Trent was out of question: Murdoc was bound to be met with unprecedented violence. In fact, he was not sure he would make it out alive. He still took on some odd jobs of questionable legality, but after almost two years of drifting, he still hadn’t found any stability. After a long period of thinking, and with few other options available, Murdoc decided that trading sex for money was his best option. 

It was not a decision he took lightly. After all, he knew about the potential violence he could encounter at the hands of clients. And, after nearly ten years, the dinner lady’s cold touch haunted him, reminding him that his body had never belonged to him. But he also wanted the security of a roof over his head and food on his table, so he made his choice. He worked under a portly sexagenarian woman who went by Madame Red. She used to be a sex worker too, and when her age made her no longer desirable, she became a procurer herself. Though she requested hefty sums for her services, her personal experiences made her more empathetic towards those who worked for her, in contrast to others in the industry. In exchange for money, Madame Red provided her girls, and boy, with an apartment, a place to work, and protection from police. In Murdoc’s case, for an extra fee, she also provided him with testosterone shots that he could not otherwise obtain. He did not know how she obtained them, since normally they required a doctor’s approval, but Murdoc did not question it. On average, he had a shot around once a month, though sometimes there was significant delay between his doses, during which he felt fatigued and morose. Nevertheless, it was a step he took that made him feel more in tune with himself, giving him a greater sense of control.

Sex proved to be fairly lucrative. There was a very particular type of client he would get. They were men, often married, who had repressed their homosexuality. They would come to sleep with men clandestinely whenever they could, to escape the trappings of traditional family. But since they could not admit their homosexuality to themselves, they preferred to sleep with Murdoc, or Faust, which was the alias he used, since in their eyes, he was ‘not really’ a man, fooling themselves further. Even years after he had started testosterone, when Murdoc's voice dropped and his facial hair grew, his clients continued to lie to themselves. It was emasculating, but money was more important. Besides, Murdoc found something perversely amusing about seeing these men blowing their money because they were too afraid, too confused, too broken to confront their reality. No matter how broken Murdoc was, at least, he told himself, he had a solid sense of identity, unlike his clients. 

Incidentally, this was also a time where a new disease was going around the world. It was incurable, and at the time, all those who contracted it inevitably died. It was HIV, and it transmitted through blood and sex. So naturally, for a God-fearing country, the message was clear: AIDS was divine punishment for being a queer or a junkie. News publications from home as well as from across the Atlantic spoke of a gay plague that haunted promiscuous sinners.

Murdoc took the precautions he needed to, refusing to take clients who did not want to use a condom. Some insisted they could not be infected, because they were definitely not like those people targeted by the news. When Murdoc stood his ground and asserted his terms, both in regards to condoms and other technicalities, some clients got violent. Thus, as a precaution, he always had a bottle of chloroform concealed near him, just in case he got attacked. It was better to lose a client than to be violated once more. 

During that time, Murdoc turned to Satanism more seriously. He had started discovering the new faith back when he was still in secondary school, but as God, according to the press, turned out to be an enemy to people like himself, he turned to Satanism with greater seriousness. On one hand, things seemed to be looking up for Murdoc: his work allowed him to afford a cheap bass and amplifier. On the other, he could not escape the fear of the epidemic, only exacerbated by the moral panic fuelled by the press. He saw AIDS slowly take the life of many in his trade, and even people he almost considered friends. Isolated and afraid, he pretended he was unaffected by the state of the world, but in truth, he could not escape reality.

Murdoc had formed his first proper band then. It consisted of himself at the bass, Alphonce on the piano and vocals, Crystal on the drums, and Candy on the guitar. They were all people who were rejected to the margins of society for different reasons. Between them, there was a silent agreement not to ask about anyone’s past or traumas. The simple knowledge that they were all beings with heavy baggage was enough to make them comfortable with one another. They did not know which styles to settle for: Murdoc was a fan of heavy metal, Alphonce’s greatest idol was Elton John, and Crystal and Candy grew up with soul. It did cause some arguments, but versatility was also their strength as a group.

Despite their differences, they tried to make things work. They always knew they’d only last a short moment; they all had different aspirations. Crystal wanted to have her own bar where other people could perform, Candy wanted to teach music, and Alphonce wanted to be a concert pianist. Murdoc, more than anything, saw music as a way to affirm his autonomy. For him, fame meant no one forced him to perform like when he was a child, no one told him what he should and shouldn’t wear just because his body looked a certain way.

But their band’s existence was cut short not by their diverging goals, nor because of tensions — Murdoc, at that period, was not yet completely insufferable — but because Alphonce had contracted HIV, and his body was quickly deteriorating. Crystal had it too, but her condition was relatively stable. They still met up, hopeful that the virus would not take its toll too fast, that good company would somehow save him, but soon the practices became rarer and rarer as Alphonce grew weaker and illness progressed to its terminal stage. Eventually, the practices stopped completely, and Alphonce was no more. He had spent his last days in his apartment, refusing to go to a hospital, where he knew he would only be dehumanized.

While Crystal and Candy took Alphonce’s death as a sign to rise up and advocate for other people with the virus, Murdoc chose to run away. He cut off contact with his remaining bandmates, and drowned his sorrows in alcohol, drugs, and parties where people were faceless and nameless entities, not individuals with whom he could form an emotional connection. He told himself that he should have known not to trust people. He had been hurt and hurt again in the past. But this time around it was different. In the past, he had been hurt by malicious people. With Alphonce, it was different. The papers said AIDS was divine punishment for homosexuality, and so Murdoc’s anger was directed at God Himself. 

No longer capable of containing his grief, Murdoc drunkenly made his way to the apartment building where Alphonce used to live, with a mostly empty bottle of rum in hand. He poured out what was left on the ground, then raised the bottle, as a toast to the sky.

“To you, mate. You didn’t deserve this”

Murdoc looked up to the 6th floor, where he could see what used to be Alphonce’s apartment. He looked around him, assessed his surroundings, and decided that this was as good a time and place as any to confront God.

“Hey, you! Are you watching? Yeah, God, I’m talking to you! So you really hate queers huh? You know at first I thought my dear old primary teachers were messing with me, but maybe they were right.”

A few faces looked out to the street, but Murdoc was too drunk to notice.

“You know, I thought you were supposed to be just and forgiving. But instead you’re just like my old man, torturing your own bloody children.”

He punctuated his sentence by throwing the rum bottle and shattering it on the ground, just like his father would when he was particularly angry. Anger was easier to express than grief.

“You took Alphonce! He had dreams! He didn’t do anything wrong! He was -” Murdoc’s voice caught in the lump forming in his throat. _Someone dear to me_ , Murdoc did not say. _Someone I cared about_ , Murdoc could not voice either. “He was my bandmate,” he finally said, his voice cracking.

“But you know what, dear old God? You don’t deserve him! He deserved better! So I’ll take his name, so as long as I breathe, he’s with me, not with you!”

At this point, Murdoc had an audience, with most of the residents of the surrounding buildings, as well as some onlookers on the street, staring at him and whispering among themselves. He finally noticed the attention, and he was not happy about it.

“What the hell are you knobs staring at? Let a man grieve! Don’t you have anything better to do?”

He vaguely heard someone yell something about their sleep being disturbed, and caught sight of someone on the lower floors of Alphonce’s building dial a short number. He took it as a signal to get the hell out as fast as he could before the police arrived. He ran to the best of his ability, swaying and stumbling in his drunken state. He managed to walk to his place, and immediately collapsed in his bed. 

After his confrontation with God, Murdoc spent a few months in a state between life and death. He was physically alive, but most of the time, he numbed himself with drugs just to be able to go on with his routine. More often than not, he was unable to accept clients without having had ingested at the very least a copious amount of alcohol. There were some times he had used more potent drugs too. He was getting tired; tired of running, tired of pain, tired of having no escape from his situation in sight. He sometimes wondered why God took Alphonce and not him, why he was not the one who got infected despite his line of work and some risky encounters he had had in the past. In his darkest moments, he wondered if it was simply time to give up completely. After all, the combination of drugs and alcohol were already not very kind on his body; he did not need to add much to the mix to finish the job.

But there were something that kept him tethered to life. Sometimes, he would be alone in his apartment, pondering whether he should take one more injection, one more shot, one more pill, and just fade into nothingness. But, each time, he would catch a glimpse of his cheap bass guitar, and, clinging to a sliver of hope, decide to go to bed instead. Once, he also noticed his books and notes on Satanism, and the next day, with renewed zeal, studied his faith. If he ran from his father, Murdoc could also run from God. He slowly started to get back up on his feet. He still heavily relied on various substances, but no longer with the intention of rendering himself half-conscious. He studied his book, searching for a way the flip the biggest cosmic bird at God, and really, anyone who had ever hurt him using religion as a justification.

He finally decided what he wanted to do. He’d had enough of being told he’d burn in hell for knowing he was a man and being attracted to people regardless of gender. He’d had enough of the world telling him that he, and others like him, deserved to suffer. He’d had enough of being emasculated by pathetic men. He was ready to make a deal with the devil.

So one day, he got sufficiently drunk to ease his anxiety, and got to work. He didn’t know how he remembered the ritual, given his state, but Satanism, he felt, was his true call. There was something almost instinctual to the way he drew the pentagram, placed his candles, and recited the incantation; not like he was drunk, but as if in a trance.

For a moment, after he had finished reciting, nothing happened. Murdoc was beginning to think he had failed, that it all was a scam, until suddenly, the flames of his candles went out, and a gentle voice resounded behind him.

“Greetings, young man.”

Murdoc turned and stared, dumbfounded by his own success. In front of him was a sharply dressed, human-looking creature with androgynous features.

“You wish to sell your soul?” they prompted, seeing that Murdoc was still entranced.

“Y-yes, but, hold on, how ... how do you know I‘m a bloke, first of all? People clearly have a hard time understanding that so … the only being who never questioned my manhood is a demon?” Murdoc did not know what he had expected, but he was genuinely surprised.

“We deal in souls. If we couldn’t read them, we wouldn’t have this business to begin with.”

“That makes sense,” Murdoc nodded to himself. “Hey, demon-”

“My name is Bob.”

“Seriously? Your name is Bob? What kind of boring name is that?”

“Look,” Bob sighed, half irritated, half exasperated from Murdoc’s questions, “not all demons are Biblical ones, we’re not all that old. The cool names are all already taken. Us young demons are just stuck with the names we had as humans before we transformed.”

“You know you could change your name,” Murdoc suggested. “I did that, I don’t see why you couldn’t.”

“You know what, you’re right, but that’s an issue for another time. Do you have any other burning questions, or can we proceed now?” Bob was tapping their foot, impatient.

“Hold on, before we make our deal and all … do you really think I’m destined to hell?”

“Classified.”

“Boring,” Murdoc grunted. He had wanted to make sure the faith he had chosen was the right one, but then he supposed, not knowing was the point of faith.

“Are you done?” Bob’s patience was wearing thin.

“Okay, fine. Here’s my request. I want to be successful in music as a man.”

“I see what you’re trying to do. That’s two wishes you’re disguising as one.”

“Just ‘cause you’re a demon trying to trick me doesn’t mean I can’t play this game too.”

“That’s two wishes,” Bob repeated, unmoved.

“No, it’s not! You said yourself I am a man, and I want musical recognition as such. But the world won’t recognize me as a man if I still have tits,” Murdoc insisted.

“You know,” Bob remarked, now more amused than irritated, “you would make a fine demon yourself, bargaining like that.”

“Thank you, I’m flattered. Now my wish”

“Hold on, aren’t you too drunk?” Bob pointed out. At first, they had thought that Murdoc was normally just very chatty and irritating. They did not suspect anything because Murdoc was standing upright, barely slurring his words. But his playful tone, and the bottles of beer strewn across the floor they had just noticed, led Bob to reassess the situation.

“No?” Murdoc was asking himself more than anything. “Why would that be a problem?”

“You can’t consent while drunk.”

“I … can’t?” Murdoc was trying not to think too hard of all the times he’d slept with people or accepted clients under the influence of drugs, of all the nights he was drugged out of his mind and he did not remember. That was a crisis he’d have to go through another day. For the moment, he was still set on making his deal.

“Look, Murdoc, we deal in contracts. You need to know what you’re signing up to, and you need a clear mind to do that.”

“I’m not drunk, those bottles you’re staring at are from yesterday,” Murdoc lied. “Look, I’m standing, I’m speaking clearly, and I won’t regret this in the morning like I do some one night stands. I want to sell my soul to be a famous male musician, you know, with documents to the name of Murdoc Alphonce Niccals, no tits, a cock, and balls. In case we weren’t clear.”

Bob hesitated, but Murdoc was convincing.

“All right,” they said. “There will be no written agreement. Once you shake my hand, the deal will be sealed, and you will go unconscious for a while. Since your request demands bodily modification and bureaucratic meddling, you will be knocked out for the rest of the night. There might be slight scarring of the tissue around the areas you wish to modify, since we’re not allowed to create anything new, we’re only modifying and moving tissue around, so your body might not be too happy about it at first. There is no going back once you shake my hand.”

Murdoc paused. That was it. It was a heavy decision, but what was the use of a soul that was always aching? He could not back out now that he had come so far. He doubted he could get out of his misery without the deal, when his body no longer resembled what his documents indicated, when people dismissed him simply because he was physically different. With renewed determination, he looked Bob in the eyes. “I’m ready.”

Bob extended their hand. 

“Nice doing business with you, Murdoc Alphonce Niccals.”

Murdoc shook Bob’s hand firmly. Then, Bob disappeared, leaving nothing behind them but a rose-scented breeze. For a moment, there was nothing, and then, darkness enveloped Murdoc. Soon after, he lost consciousness.

The next morning, Murdoc woke up with a pounding headache. He tried to remember what happened the last night. He looked at the beer bottles scattered all over the floor, but that was not alarming, it was routine. His eyes then fixed on the pentagram painted on the floor beneath him. Demon deal. Right.

He examined his body. His breasts were gone. His chest was perfectly masculine, and even the scars Bob had warned him about were nearly invisible. He then looked into his pants. As promised, he had a knob. He could barely believe it. A phallus. A shaft. A schlong. There was a very light scar parting it along the middle but once again, nothing that would be noticeable to someone who didn't know. Overcome with excitement, Murdoc did the first logical thing someone who just grew a penis would:

Pee standing up. 

Then take a bath to see if it floats. 

Then wank.

When he was done with that, the next thing he needed to check was his documents. He dug through his drawer, and sure enough, he found a birth certificate to the name of Murdoc Alphonce Niccals. He would need time to find out if Bob also kept their promise about giving him a successful music career, but so far, with his other requests being fulfilled, he had a good feeling. So he prepared himself for work.

Only with his new body, Murdoc found out that no longer had the appeal that brought him money before. After a particularly loaded altercation, where a semi-regular client, upon seeing Murdoc, seemed not to recognize him and aggressively insisted that he was “not a faggot,” despite all the times he’d previously paid Murdoc, Murdoc understood that he would need to find a different source of income.

He parted ways with Madame Red. He needed to find a new job and a new apartment, which, with his changed documents and body, proved to be much easier than when he first ran from home. In addition, no one recognized him as Faust the streetwalker since he made his deal, despite his facial features staying exactly the same. Not that he complained about that. However, Murdoc could never stay the same job more than a few months. He grew more irate, explosive, unpredictable and unapproachable since Alphonce’s death, and he would get himself fired from whatever store he worked at, either because he threatened a customer, or, on days he was passive, because he had skipped too many shifts. 

A bit less than a month after the deal with Bob, Murdoc started to feel strangely fatigued and depressed. Murdoc dismissed it simply as a consequence of income loss and humiliation at the hands of those same men who told him their dirty secrets at night after they were done having their way with him. But a few more months passed, and his muscles started feeling weak. Running his hand through his hair, Murdoc noticed it had lost its usual coarseness too. The only time he remembered feeling that kind of fatigue was in periods when Madame Red struggled to deliver him his testosterone shots in time. And then it hit him. Murdoc pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to remember what exactly happened on the night he sold his soul. He made a mental list of the things he had requested from Bob. _I want to sell my soul to be a famous male musician, you know, with documents to the name of Murdoc Alphonce Niccals, no tits, a cock, and balls._ He had not mentioned anything about testosterone: Bob took his deal quite literally.

“You wanker,” Murdoc whispered to himself, hoping that somewhere in Hell, Bob heard him.

The upside of the discovery was that Murdoc confirmed that demons kept their promises to the letter, meaning that he had something to look forward to: fame. The testosterone situation was trickier, but he eventually got one of his drug contacts to procure him a shot every month. 

While floating from job to job, Murdoc also met other musicians. He eventually formed a new band with Billy Boy and Tiny on guitars, Crunch on drums, Rocky on keyboards, and Munch, who did not play, but designed their posters. This time around, he made sure not to form any emotional connection. All was strictly professional between them, and they did not meet much outside of band practice. The few gigs they played in various bars helped Murdoc make extra money too, even though once, they got paid just so they would stop playing. But money was money. They stayed together for a year, until they disbanded, due to Murdoc’s almost exclusive control of the band’s direction.

The same story repeated itself multiple times. Murdoc created a band, and it would shortly break up due to clashing personalities, or rather, Murdoc’s explosive personality that clashed with everyone else’s. With one band, which he baptized Murdoc’s Burning Sensations, he did manage to play a show on November 29, 1994, too close to home at Stoke-On-Trent. It was a disaster, but surprisingly, no one recognized him as Sebastian’s lost child. It was as if his life before the deal had vanished from people’s memory. This encouraged Murdoc to persevere, but after a year and a half, Murdoc’s Burning Sensations disbanded too.

Instead of examining the real causes of his lack of success thus far, Murdoc told himself that a real band needed something more than cheap instruments bought on sale. Good musicians needed instruments that were worthy of the music they played. So Murdoc teamed of with a group of thieves. He would help them carry out their other operations, in exchange for a detour at an instrument store. 

He had eyes on only one destination: Uncle Norm's Organ Emporium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a heavy chapter. I took a lot of liberties in regards to plot since there's not a lot of information about this part of Murdoc's life.
> 
> Here are some notes to contextualize this chapter:
> 
>   
> **On HIV/AIDS**  
>  Most of my knowledge about the HIV epidemic is about the U.S. specifically, I admit, but from what I gathered in various readings, societal attitudes were quite similar in the U.K. and the U.S. The first known reported case in the U.K. dates to the end of 1981: Murdoc is ~15 then.
> 
> I alternate between using AIDS and HIV, since the name HIV came about in 1986. In the first year or so of the epidemic, it was called GRID (Gay-Related Immune Deficiency), which goes to show just how closely doctors and people in general associated it with men who have sex with men, further stigmatizing them. However, now, the correct term to talk about the virus is HIV; AIDS usually refers to a stage where an HIV+ person has immune deficiency. 
> 
> In the late 80s-early 90s, AZT was used to manage HIV, but it was not effective on its own. The treatment we know today was first developed in 1996, and consists of a combination of antiretroviral drugs. When treatment is successful, HIV is considered a chronic condition, and HIV+ people can lead long, fulfilling lives.
> 
> Finally, anyone can contract HIV: a virus does not discriminate. Marginalized groups are vulnerable because of more difficult access to preventative measure and appropriate healthcare, not because they are somehow morally inferior.
> 
> Here are a few books on HIV/AIDS I recommend if you can find them in your local library:
> 
>  _AIDS and Its Metaphors_ (1989) by Susan Sontag: a text analyzing the ways in which HIV/AIDS, as well as HIV+ people, are further stigmatized through the language and metaphors that politicians, institutions, and every day people use when talking about the virus. Take some of the scientific information with a grain of salt, since it was written in 1989. The political commentary, however, is still relevant.
> 
>  _Plague-Making and the AIDS Epidemic: a Story of Discrimination_ (2012) by Gina M. Bright: a book written by a nurse who worked with AIDS patients in the U.S. at the height of the epidemic, she discusses how HIV/AIDS was constructed as a plague, that is to say, God’s punishment for sin. She also discusses how in even in medical circles, HIV/AIDS was known as a “gay” disease, and how medical personnel often neglected and avoided infected patients.
> 
>  _AIDS at 30: A History_ (2012) by Victoria Harden: a more global overview of the HIV/AIDS epidemic, and how mainstream science and medicine understood the epidemic within the socio-political framework of the 30-years’ time period that the author documents.
> 
>   
> **On sex work**  
>  I am less knowledgeable about sex work than about HIV. However, Murdoc being a trans man with no social support in the 80s, he wouldn’t have had many other options. I purposely added a two year gap between him quitting school and him starting sex work so he's a full adult by the time he starts.
> 
> Trying to provide a fair representation of sex work is difficult, because sex trafficking is a real problem, where people, mostly women, are exploited with no escape. However, the illegality of prostitution in most of the world puts people in danger too, people for whom sex work can be a way to exercise agency. Murdoc, in my fic, is in the latter position.
> 
> Sex work is a broad term that includes much more than just trading sex acts for money, but I tried to avoid the words prostitute/prostitution, since they are considered outdated/inaccurate by some, and they describe a narrow legal category. If you are knowledgeable about sex work and have an issue with certain sections, please talk to me, I’d love to add corrections where I can.
> 
> I did find a recent survey on trans sex workers in the U.S, which helped me contextualize some things: https://www.transequality.org/sites/default/files/Meaningful%20Work-Full%20Report_FINAL_3.pdf
> 
> Edit: it's been a few years since I read it but it's been on the back of my mind as I was writing this chapter, here is an interview with a trans male sex worker about his experience: https://www.vice.com/en_ca/article/yvwjjj/what-life-is-like-as-a-male-transgender-sex-worker
> 
> \---
> 
> Next chapter will be much lighter. We're finally going to get to Gorillaz!


	3. Worlds Collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc crashes a car into a music shop employee's face and the rest is rock'n'roll history

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> University is keeping me busy, and this chapter turned out longer than expected, so this update took a while. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Disclaimer: Just because I chose to focus on Murdoc and his motivations does not mean I'm justifying any of Murdoc's actions. He is physically and emotionally abusive, there’s no question about it. I simply want to write a story that explores his unhealthy behaviours, and I’m adding a layer by writing him as trans. I think we all have the potential to be either very loving or very cruel people, and there is value in understanding why certain people turn out to be part of that latter category, because understanding is the first step to healing.
> 
> I’m not too happy about making this disclaimer, but I feel like I _have_ to, to stay the safe side, since I got shit on other social media for some pretty innocuous stuff.
> 
> Chapter warning: physical abuse, injuries.

Murdoc's decision to steal instruments was life-changing, but not in the way he had expected. 

He was supposed to go into Uncle Norm’s Organ Emporium and steal a few instruments, while everyone was too busy recovering from the shock of seeing a car fly through the window to do anything. He was not supposed to run his car into the face of a young employee. He was not supposed to have any casualties. He got out of the car, his mind no longer focusing on his mission, but on the young man he had just hit. He looked at the limp body, and, conscience not quite burdened but shaken by the empty, bloody expression, the only thing he could do is laugh at the situation. It felt like a cosmic joke for which his life was the punchline. Just when Murdoc had started feeling like he was finally going to find a way out of his misery, he had to get himself into an impossible situation. He was pretty sure he killed the poor sod, but he kept laughing, because he had nothing else to do. He felt with certainty at that moment, that his life was over. He did not notice the sirens approaching, nor his accomplices' quick escape, nor the clamouring voices around him, nor the police officer who arrested him. Even as the officer asked for his name, his driver’s license, and other information, Murdoc kept giggling. Thinking back, he must have looked like a complete twat. They tested him for alcohol intake, but for once, he had not consumed anything. That proved to be what saved him in the court case.

In front of the judge, he made up a story about how, oh- he lost control of the car, and ah- how terrifying the accident was! Murdoc also emphasized how he did not have any traffic violation on his record (when in reality, he had an uncanny ability to escape the police whenever he pulled a stunt). He carefully hid his history of drug and alcohol abuse, to appear respectable in front of his audience. He even managed to cry fake tears. After so much experience feigning pleasure for men as a job, even after hours in improbable positions, even when all his limbs ached and he wanted nothing other than rest, he had become quite a decent actor. Pretending the consequences of his attempted robbery were nothing but an unfortunate accident was a piece of cake in comparison.

What he did not expect, however, is that his acting would be so convincing that the judge let him off with such an easy sentence. 30,000 hours of community service, 10 hours a week, looking after his casualty. He would simply have to spend his time in the company of a comatose Stuart. That was the poor sod’s name, he later learned. It certainly was an inconvenience, but it was better than prison.

Stuart Pot. He was a man with an unimpressive name and an unimpressive life. The only thing he had going for him was his striking blue hair, which, Murdoc had discovered by pulling a few strands and looking at the roots, was naturally that colour. Murdoc was fascinated, seeing the young blue haired man powerless, alone, unable to resist anything done to him. Murdoc wondered if that was what he looked like to his father when he would attack him. He was seized by morbid curiosity, and one day something snapped inside of him. Frustration about his life going nowhere, about being stuck due to his own carelessness, built up inside of him, and, cursing Stuart, he hit him for the first time of many more to come. Whenever Murdoc left a bruise on Stuart's body, he wondered if the same rage coursed through his father's veins back when he was a child. But then, he convinced himself, he could not be like his father. After all, Stuart was a grown man, not a helpless child, and besides, he could not feel the pain in his state. He told himself that he was doing Stu a favour when he slapped and punched him around, that he was just making sure that he was indeed comatose. He was definitely not using Stuart as an outlet for his own issues, he told himself. And like his father would take him to school bruised and maimed (on the days he did bother to do that), so did Murdoc bring Stuart back to his parents, not thinking they’ll notice anything, or that they wouldn’t dare say anything about the bruises. But he was wrong. They did confront him, and he had to do his best to sweet talk them and convince them that it was an accident and oh! It was hard to carry a comatose body without any damage, especially since Stu can’t yell out if he’s in pain. And while Murdoc did not suffer any consequences, he could see how the Pots were looking at him, he could hear them exchange whispers, and he knew they were not entirely convinced. He understood that they cared. In that moment, he came to realize that some people did grow up with love. And for that, he started hating Stuart Pot even more.

So he started to take even less care of Stuart. He dragged him on his adventures, not even bothering to purposely hurt him. He was not worth that kind of attention. The bruises would come from neglect rather than deliberate injuries. He dragged Stu to his car, not caring if his limbs got hit in the process, and left his limp body in the backseat of the car without a belt. Murdoc was making his lie to the Pots more convincing it by turning it into a truth.

Until one day Murdoc went too far.

It was a rainy evening. He was in an empty parking lot, trying to perform car tricks to impress passerby girls. Though since he had sold his soul, Murdoc no longer flirted with death, he still hadn’t lost his recklessness. In fact, the promise of fame made him feel invincible, despite his earlier accident. The relatively easy sentence he got for nearly killing Stuart only reinforced the feeling that he was protected from harm. And so, without caring to buckle Stuart’s seatbelt as usual, he revved his engine and traced 360s with his car, tires screeching. He then brusquely stopped, changing his course, ready to perform a new stunt. What he did not forsee was that Stu would be sent flying out the car due to his inertia with a loud shattering of glass. Once again, Stu’s presence had unexpected consequences for Murdoc. Once again, for a few fateful moments, time stopped.

Murdoc froze, eyes squeezed shut. He was too afraid to look out of his broken windshield, afraid to discover a dead body. It was like reliving a nightmare, only the nightmare had truly happened once before. In his panic, Murdoc told himself that if he did not look, he would not know what happened to Stu, and he could walk away with bloodless hands. But he knew that no matter what he did, all evidence would point to his crime, so he slowly opened his eyes, preparing for the worst. 

Before Murdoc could decide on a course of action, Stu’s silhouette appeared in his field of vision. Stu stood up slowly, trying to support his body with shaky hands. Murdoc, still shivering from the shock, could barely comprehend what he saw unfold before his eyes. He did not know what he had exactly expected, but it was not that Stu would wake up from his coma. The paralysing uncertainty having vanished, Murdoc opened the car door and carefully made his way towards Stuart, who snapped his head towards Murdoc as he slammed the door behind him, and stared directly into his eyes. For the first time, Murdoc was forced to truly look at him, to acknowledge him.

What Murdoc saw was a blue haired, black eyed god, the blood from his injuries taking nothing away from Stuart’s magnetic charm. As life came back to Stu’s body, his unusual features gained a new appeal. Murdoc decided that, if Stuart had any musical talent, he had to be his frontman.

Stuart’s pained wailing pulled Murdoc out of his reverie, and suddenly, Stu was once again the normal, unimpressive boy from Crawley.

“Help! Please! I don’t know where I am!”

“Here!” Murdoc shouted back. “Can you see me?”

“I can’t, please keep talking!”

“Hold on, let me get to you.”

Murdoc was still shaking, but he forced his legs to make their way to Stu, who was fixed in place, not daring to move in the darkness. 

“Hey Stuart, I’m here,” Murdoc tried to sound calm, more for himself than for Stuart. He had no idea whether Stu remembered anything that he had done to him, whether his voice was a reassurance or a cause for alarm, but he kept walking towards him.

Stuart tried to take a step, seemingly comforted by Murdoc’s words, but he could not keep his balance, so instead he reached for Murdoc. When he was close enough, Murdoc grabbed his hand. Stuart responded by gripping it hard, grateful to finally have an anchor to hold on to. Murdoc was surprised at the strength of his grip.

“Here, I'm here,” Murdoc coaxed, “it’s alright.”

“What happened?” Stu’s voice was shaky, trying to look around but seeing little, his vision obscured by blood.

“Car accident. We need to get you to a hospital. C'mon, follow me,” Murdoc nudged, hooking his arm around 2D’s back to guide him to the car.

“Who are you? I don't think I've ever met you.”

“I'm Murdoc. You don't remember anything at all?”

Stuart lightly pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to concentrate despite the pain and confusion.

“No… last thing I remember was working my shift for Uncle Norm,” he finally replied.

Murdoc sighed, half relieved, half apprehensive. On one hand, it meant that he could feed Stuart any story that made him look favourable. On the other, it meant that he would have to come up with something so convincing that Stuart believes and trusts him over everyone else in his life.

“You have a lot to catch up on when you're back on your feet then,” Murdoc simply stated. Right now, the priority was getting Stuart to the A&E.

When they got back to the car, Murdoc guided Stuart to the passenger seat and fastened the seatbelt for him. Once he made sure everything was secure, Murdoc made his way to his own seat, tossing the broken glass aside and turning on the engine. He was still unsettled, but conversation with Stu had helped him regain focus. Many times he had wondered what the young man was like when actually awake. He wondered if he would ever meet the Stu from before the accident, or if he irreparably transformed him. Stuart, for his part, stayed mostly silent save a few hisses he let out due to pain. Stu, for his part, was not suspicious of Murdoc, and asked little questions during the car ride. He was glad he had someone to guide him through the ordeal, and talking required too much effort in his confused and painful state.

When they got to the Emergency department, Stuart was immediately taken care of. The nurses asked Murdoc what happened, and Murdoc, as usual, would make excuses: oh! It was raining and ah! The car skidded out of control, and poor unconscious Stu could not do anything to save himself. Excuses, which, paired with Stuart’s conviction that Murdoc saved him, turned out to be Murdoc's defense in his second court case.

Once the medical personnel had made sure Stu's condition was stable, they allowed him to stroll in the hospital corridors, albeit in a wheelchair, as he had difficulty standing on his own. He took the occasion to call his parents through a wall phone at the end of the corridor. Murdoc stayed near Stuart as he was talking. To Murdoc’s great surprise, Stuart, while informing his parents of what had happened, painted him as a hero who had saved him, reaching out to him in the dark. He repeated the story about the rain, not once doubting Murdoc's version of events. When his parents inquired about Murdoc's proneness to car accidents, explaining to Stu that Murdoc was the one who had put him in a coma in the first place, he simply let out a chuckle, and said “oh, finally someone as clumsy as me! We're bound to get along.” Murdoc, for his part, could not figure out if the accidents had knocked the sense out of him, if he was an absolute idiot before them or if he was just that trusting. Either way, he did not complain. Loyalty was a useful thing to exploit, so he kept Stuart company while he was recovering.

In Stu’s hospital room, Murdoc met Paula Cracker, Stuart’s girlfriend. He had seen her before in the courtroom after the first accident, but he had not known who she was then. He did not pay much attention to her at the time, and in the hospital room, he did not bother to make conversation with her other than indifferently greeting her before leaving the room. Paula seemed more sensible and perceptive than Stu, hence his caution around her. He still had a court hearing, and he needed Stu’s entourage to believe his story. He couldn’t let anyone find out that in reality, he had deliberately put Stuart in danger. So he left Stuart and Paula alone, knowing that Stu would defend his actions and recount Murdoc’s version of events with naive and convincing sincerity. 

When no one else was visiting Stuart, Murdoc found himself in the chair next to his hospital bed. He felt inexplicably drawn to Stuart, not out of care but out of curiosity. When Stuart was not experiencing excruciating pain or knocked out on painkillers, Murdoc made light conversation with him, inquiring if he played any musical instrument. When Stuart replied in the affirmative, adding as well that he sang, Murdoc could barely hide his triumph, and Stuart’s unsettling dark eyes lit up with excitement too. They agreed to meet in Murdoc’s apartment for an audition once Stuart recovered.

Meanwhile, the court case passed by in a flash, and Murdoc remained unscathed. By that time, Stuart had already convinced his entire entourage that Murdoc was once again caught in a terrible accident, and reassured that he held no hard feelings towards his caretaker. In fact, he was grateful for his saviour. The judge remained somewhat skeptical, but given that the second accident revived Stuart when none of the doctors could, Murdoc walked free, suffering no consequences at all this time around.

A week later, once Stuart was discharged from the hospital, Murdoc invited him to his small apartment, where Stu generously installed a keyboard for practice. Murdoc wanted to put his skills to the test, to see if he was worthy of his band. Despite knowing that Stuart was a Grade 8 pianist, he did not know what to expect, since Stu was slow, and his coordination, Murdoc had learned, had worsened as a result of the accidents. However, as soon as Stu sat at the keyboard and started improvising, he became a different man. His playing was surprisingly unaffected by memory loss or poor coordination. It was something almost instinctual. And when he started singing, Murdoc was floored. It was nothing like his shy, high pitched speaking voice. His voice was smooth, emotive and somber. Murdoc knew that with Stuart, he would create the band that would give him fame. He let out a low whistle.

“Consider me impressed, Stuart. Cherish it, I don't give out compliments easily.”

“So I'm in your band?” Stuart’s expression lit up.

“Yes, but before that, we need to change your name. We need something flashy, fit for a real rockstar.”

“Like what?”

Murdoc thought for a bit, and Stu kept looking at him intently, black eyes unreadable. Feeling the heaviness of the gaze upon him, Murdoc wondered whether Stu would feel flattered about a nickname referencing his unusual eyes, or hurt by what could look like a cruel mockery of his injuries. Murdoc didn’t dwell on it too long though, since sensibility was not his forte.

“How about 2 Dents? Your eyes look like two holes. 2D for short, how are we feeling about that?” he asked.

“I like it!” 2D said. “Yeah, I can definitely get used to that.”

“Welcome to your new life, 2D,” Murdoc said, grinning widely as he put a hand on Stuart’s shoulder. “We’re going to be the greatest band the world has ever seen!”

2D responded with an enthusiastic whoop. Things were slowly coming together. Stu had been a burden to Murdoc, but 2D was his ticket to fame.

With renewed faith, Murdoc went looking for a recording studio. He found a building sold at a ridiculously low price on the internet, and, reckless as always, did not think twice before buying it and moving out of his small, cramped apartment. Thus, he acquired Kong Studios and all the zombies crawling on its premises. All he needed now was a guitarist and a drummer.

Finding a guitarist was fairly easy: 2D invited Paula to the still nameless band, and knowing no one else, Murdoc accepted. Finding a drummer, on the other hand, was trickier. Murdoc did not have many acquaintances in the music world, since he cut off contact with whomever he no longer considered useful, and he had long ago decided that emotional attachments did him more harm than good. He was, however, resourceful, so he knew how to find the people he needed.

Murdoc, keeping close tabs on the local music scene, had heard of a certain Russel Hobbs. The rumour went that we was a vessel for ghosts and that he had great taste in music. Russel would make the perfect addition to his band, and his proximity to the supernatural was a great bonus. But rather than talking to him, Murdoc decided to make an offer he could not refuse. He went with what he thought was the logical course of action: he kidnapped Russel.

Murdoc had studied Russel from afar, and he knew that on Wednesdays, he had the closing shift for Big Rick Black's Record Shack in Soho. He decided then, right before the closing of the store, to ask Russel for an obscure 50s record. It was a way to distract him, but it was also a test to see if he lived up to his reputation. When Murdoc saw that indeed, Russel knew it and could find it, he was satisfied, he put a bag over his head and dragged him out of the store. Russel was putting up a powerful resistance, and Murdoc, having severely underestimated his own strength, had to resort to other methods. He took out a chloroform vial from his pocket, spilled its contents on a handkerchief, and pressed it on Russel’s nose. It didn't take long for the drug to take effect, and once Russel fell, limbs slack, Murdoc heaved his body to his Winnebago and drove away.

When he got back to Kong Studios, only 2D was present. Murdoc attempted to drag Russel into the studio and made some slow progress, but not without knocking things over as he went. His grunts, as well as the sound of falling objects, caught 2D’s attention. Intrigued by the commotion, he went to the vestibule to investigate the source of noise. 

“What are you staring at?” Murdoc snapped as he caught a flash of blue in his field of vision. “Come help me.”

“Who is that?” 2D asked, pointing at Russel and ignoring Murdoc’s request.

“That, 2D, is Russel Hobbs, our future drummer.”

“Why is he … unconscious?” 2D hesitated, partly because he had a hard time pronouncing certain words since his accidents, partly because the situation was unusual, to say the least.

“He needs a little bit of convincing. Come on, let’s get him to the studio.”

2D complied, though he wasn’t much help. Murdoc still ended up doing most of the work. Luckily, the recording studio was not too far, and together they managed to get Russel into a chair. While they waited for Russel to wake up, Murdoc tried to dodge 2D’s incessant questions about why he kidnapped Russel or how he did it. Soon enough Russel stirred in his sleep, and both turned their attention to the drummer. Murdoc promptly shushed 2D and ordered him not to speak to Russel without his permission. Russel blinked a few times, trying to get his vision focused, and jerked away at the sight of Murdoc.

“You! What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Relax Russel, I just want to talk.” Murdoc purred with a saccharine tone.

“ _Talk_? You kidnapped me to just _talk_? You expect me to believe that?”

“Well, you don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to, but I can assure you I just want to talk.”

Russel huffed.

“Come on, what do you _really_ want from me? Money? My life?” Russel questioned, and then, suddenly, he was seized by panic. “Did the Grim Reaper send you?”

“Look Russel, I don't know what you're going on about, but I'm not lying,” Murdoc insisted, as if it was a regular business talk.

“Tell me one reason I shouldn't call the police right now.”

“You don't know my name, for starters. Second, we all know you can't trust the police.”

“Yeah!” 2D butted in, despite Murdoc's instructions. “You can trust Murdoc though.” 

“So you're Murdoc then,” Russel smiled grimly, happy to have a small victory despite his situation. “Should be easy to find information on you, that's a rare first name.”

“Great job, Dents.” Murdoc muttered, then turned back to Russel. “Look, before you call the police or do anything, will you listen to my proposition?”

“And why should I trust someone who just kidnapped me?”

“Murdoc means well,” 2D chimed in again. “He took me into his band after he saved me from a coma and gave me a new look.” 2D pointed at his black eyes enthusiastically, which did not impress Russel that much, given his own glowing white eyes.

“And how did he do that?” Russel inquired, unconvinced.

“He sent me flying through his windshield, which knocked my second eye and woke me up!”

“He what?” Russel shook his head in disbelief, wondering how much stranger the situation could get. “Hold on, your second eye? What happened to the first one?”

“That one's also Murdoc! He crashed his car into my face accidentally and put me into a coma,” 2D said all too cheerfully to Russel's taste.

“Dents, that's enough,” Murdoc grumbled.

“And you think this guy saved you? What is this, some twisted kind of good cop, bad cop game you're playing to mess with me?”

“More like genius cop, idiot cop, if you ask me. But enough distractions. Let's get to my proposition.”

“Yes, let's get to it,” Russel agreed, tone sarcastic, but increasingly intrigued. “I’m really curious to know what could be so good you dragged this poor guy into believing that you saved him.”

“As they say, let the music do the talking”

Murdoc reached behind him to play a demo cassette. Soon enough, the studio was filled with music. Russel's features softened, absorbed in the melody. When it finished playing, Murdoc popped the cassette out and put it back on the table.

“I never heard this, it sounds unique. What is it?” Russel was so impressed with the music that for a moment, he forgot that he was still Murdoc’s captive.

“That, Russel, is a demo for a track for my new band. Only we needed a drummer, and someone with musical expertise. Will you be our drummer, Russel?”

Murdoc popped the cassette out of the player, grabbed it, dramatically went down on one knee, and offered it to Russel in his outstretched hands, mocking a marriage proposal.

“Seriously? You kidnapped me to ask me to be your drummer? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I needed you to hear the demo, to be sure you wouldn't refuse.”

“It was a good demo,” Russel reluctantly admitted once his outrage subsided. “Could use a more hip-hop though, it'll create a unique blend.”

“That's what I'm talking about! See, you're already getting into it!”

“Don't get too excited, I didn't say I accepted.”

“But you can't refuse now, can you!” Murdoc nudged him with his elbow playfully.

Russel grunted, turning his head away, conflicted. He did not want to let Murdoc win, but truth be told, it was a while since he had made music with people, and really, since he could say that he had a group of friends. Murdoc's band could be nice.

“Okay. Fine. I'll be part of your band. But only because I want to keep an eye on you. Who knows what kind of shit you'll pull next.”

“That's the spirit!”

Russel shook his head and let out a sardonic chuckle.

“You have a way of putting people in harm's way and then making them feel like they are lucky to encounter you, huh.”

“It works,” Murdoc replied with a shrug.

“And it worked,” Russel sighed. “But that’s the first and last time I will ever fall for that shit. Careful, or you’ll end up screwing yourself over like this one day.”

“Yeah yeah, keep lecturing, but I won here.”

And with that, Murdoc had assembled his band. A few jam sessions later, they found a name. The name Gorillaz was decided by Murdoc and Russel, and stylized with the final ‘z’ thanks to 2D’s inability to spell, which, coincidentally, fit right into the cultural aesthetic of the time.

Gorillaz could now start working on their music. Russel kept working at Big Rick's, only coming into Kong Studios to compose, jam or record. Stuart moved into Kong permanently it seemed. Within a few weeks, he had installed his furniture and instruments, and decorated the walls of his room with posters. He gave up on his job at Uncle Norm's partly because he felt anxious returning to the place where his first car accident occured, partly because his physical disability now made work harder, but mostly, because he had unwavering faith in Murdoc and his dream. Paula, in contrast with Stuart, did not seem as enthusiastic. She did not attempt to make Kong her home, and appeared to be disinterested, as if she agreed to join simply to please 2D. Even there, however, Murdoc suspected that she didn't make him happy out of the goodness of her heart, but simply to ensure his loyalty. He did not take it as a good sign. Besides, he thought her to be an average guitarist. Above all, she was a distraction for Stuart, who would have a hard time focusing in the studio, giving Paula suggestive looks whenever he thought no one was looking (but everyone saw). She had him completely head over heels. And that frightened Murdoc. If Paula decided to leave, smitten Stuart would follow her, and Murdoc was not sure that 2D's admiration for him could stop that from happening. Murdoc could not have a competitor. So he decided to get closer to Paula, and find a way to neutralize the threat.

Murdoc found out that in conversation, she had much more to offer than Stu. She displayed more intelligence and, in general, had greater life experience than 2D, who less than a year earlier was still a teen. Over some talks with Paula, Murdoc found that he quite appreciated her. He would not go as far as to call her a friend, but he did gain some respect for her. Eventually, their conversations moved from the kitchen table to the bedroom, and conversations in the bedroom were replaced by sex. The fact that she had no qualms about cheating confirmed Murdoc’s suspicions that she did not care for Stu emotionally, but he was not one to judge. It did, however, tickle his curiosity.

One time, in a post-sex haze, Murdoc asked Paula:

“Say, Paula, if you keep coming back to my bedroom despite having a boyfriend, why do you even bother dating 2D?”

“Why do _you_ keep him around, Murdoc?” she deflected.

Murdoc shifted in his bed, reaching for cigarette on his bedside table, buying himself some time to come up with an answer.

“That’s a weird question. Because he’s useful. I need him in my band. He’s tall, handsome, and talented, what more would you want?”

“There’s your answer, then.”

“But I’m not in a relationship with him, and I’m not cheating on him.”

“But he’s so infatuated with you,” Paula teased, dodging the question once more. “I’m sure he’d love if you asked him out.”

“No thanks.” Murdoc took a drag on his cigarette. “He’s too young for me either way. You can keep him, as long as he stays in Gorillaz.”

“Aww, how generous of you.”

“But seriously Paula, why?”

“I told you. You’re using him for fame. And I might be a little selfish too,” she simply replied, not accusatory nor defensive.

“That’s fair. No judgement here.”

So they continued their clandestine affair with no further questions. Murdoc, however was getting impatient, because by that time, he felt that Paula was not meant to be part of his band. She had nothing exceptional about her. Besides, she was the first person with whom he had a semblance of an ongoing relationship since he had made his demon deal, and that terrified him. She had access to his room, and if she decided to dig around, she could find his testosterone supplies. She, unlike his one night stands, could learn every inch of his body, and with each time they slept together, he grew more and more apprehensive that she would notice his pale scars, that she would uncover his secret, reveal it and destroy his career before it started. Murdoc could not arbitrarily kick her out of the band because 2D would follow, but she had to go somehow.

Luckily for Murdoc, the solution to his problem came — no pun intended — when Murdoc and Paula decided, one day, to be particularly adventurous in the bathrooms at Kong studios. Looking for an extra thrill, they decided to have sex somewhere where getting caught was a possibility. And getting caught they did.

As Paula was blowing him, Russel came into the bathroom. They attempted to separate, but to no avail, what had happened between them was clear as day. Between Paula wiping her mouth as she was getting up, and Murdoc fumbling with his pants, it was futile to hide.

“Drop the act, I saw what you were doing,” Russel's voice echoed in the bathroom. “What the fuck were you two thinking?”

Neither Murdoc nor Paula said anything.

“Move,” Russel ordered Paula, pointing at her. She slowly squeezed out of the cabin, not taking her gaze away from Russel, even as he looked down at her, trying to make her feel a modicum of shame. Whether she felt it, he didn't know, because she was resolute not to let him know.

When Paula was at a safe distance, Russel quickly grabbed Murdoc by the collar of his shirt, yanked him out of the cabin, and punched him right on the nose with a loud crack before he could react.

Stunned by the blow but his defensive instincts still alert, he wriggled out of Russel's grip and kicked him to gain some distance. Russel stumbled backwards slightly, but remained mostly unaffected, preparing another punch.

“Enough, Russel!” Paula screamed. “He's not worth it.”

“Jeez, thanks Paula, glad to know you care,” Murdoc sarcastically quipped, though he was thankful the altercation did not last longer. He walked towards her and then turned his attention back to Russel. “Why hit me? Paula is the one cheating on 2D. Some sense of justice you got there.”

Paula did not react, choosing to pick dirt out of her fingernails instead.

“To wipe the smug grin from your face,” Russel replied. “Be glad it's not Dee who found you.”

Murdoc scoffed.

“What would that scrawny idiot do to me?”

“Leave the band.”

The realization was much more effective at wiping Murdoc's grin off his face than Russel's punch.

“So you're not gonna tell him?”

“No. You will,” Russel said.

“Why not Paula?”

“I sure love it when people remember me only to avoid responsibility,” Paula quipped sarcastically.

“Because this is about Murdoc controlling 2D,” Russel replied, ignoring Paula.

“What do you know, Russel?”

“I've been possessed by demons in the past. I can recognize one when it's in front of me.”

“Now, there's no need to be so mean to Paula,” Murdoc deflected, which earned him an elbowing from Paula.

“Be serious Murdoc. Talk to him. Now. And you, Paula … really? That's how low your standards are?”

Paula simply shrugged. Murdoc's eyes were shifting between Paula and Russel, not sure what to say next.

“So? What are you waiting for?” Russel urged. “Talk to Dee _now_.”

So Murdoc went downstairs and found 2D in the kitchen. He pulled himself a chair, sat at the table with him, and told him the whole story in excruciating detail, watching 2D grow redder as he bit his lips in an effort to prevent his tears from spilling.

“.. and then when she-”

“ENOUGH!” 2D screamed, banging his fist on the table. Murdoc had never seen him this close to aggression, and decided to avoid the risk of pressing further.

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop, Say, 2D-.”

“Leave me alone,” 2D flatly said.

“No need to get so emotional,” Murdoc muttered under his breath. “It’s not like she cared about you anyway.”

At the sound of these words, 2D brusquely got up, slammed his chair into the table and left. A few minutes later, Paula came in. She sat in the chair 2D had used before her, for what would be her last time at Kong Studios.

“So,” she asked, “How did it go?”

“Well, he didn’t try to hit me, so that’s one victory.” Murdoc replied, sounding anything but victorious. “But what about you? Did you talk to him?”

“I saw him going back to his room. He said he did not want to look at me every again. So I guess that’s it for me here.” She did not sound particularly heartbroken.

“Huh.”

“Oh yeah, since I’m sure you’re dying to know,” she added, “I think he’s going to stay in Gorillaz. He told _me_ to leave, which means he wants to stay. He’s all yours now.”

“Thanks Paula, that’s very generous of you.”

“Welcome.” She paused for a bit. After the silence became too unbearable, she got up, ready to fulfill 2D’s request. “Well, I should get going. There’s no point in staying here any longer.”

“Sure.” Murdoc got up to accompany her to the door. “It was nice while it lasted.”

Paula hummed in agreement. They walked in silence until they reached Kong’s main entrance.

“I guess this is where we say farewell, Murdoc.”

“Farewell? You’re talking like we are never going to see each other again.”

“Are you really planning to?” she asked.

“No,” Murdoc admitted.

“That’s what I thought.”

“No hard feelings then?”

“No.”

Murdoc took out his cigarette pack, fishing two cigarettes out. He offered one to Paula. She accepted, and after Murdoc lit it, she wordlessly left. He watched her fade into nothingness as the distance between them grew. That was the last time he saw Paula.

The following few weeks were tense at Kong Studios. 2D and Murdoc barely talked. They mostly avoided one another. They tried to work on some tracks separately, but given their lack of communication, not much came of it. Russel didn’t have a friendly attitude toward Murdoc either, his heavy gaze and judgemental silences making the atmosphere at Kong all the more uncomfortable.

Seeing that musically, the band was not going anywhere, Murdoc tried to find a new guitarist. He published an advertisement and auditioned a few people, most of them forgettable. One of them, Jimmy Manson, stood out to him, but for all the wrong reasons. He seemed unhinged and obsessive, even by Murdoc’s standards. Something at the back of his mind told him that Jimmy was dangerous, and Murdoc hurriedly tried to get him out of Kong Studios, telling Jimmy that he will think about his audition and get back to him later, which was really an attempt to buy time to find an excuse to get rid of him for good.

Clearly, finding a new guitarist was not going well either, so the only option Murdoc had left was to attempt to regain some of 2D’s trust, so they could work on music again. The universe, it seemed, delivered him the opportunity to do so on a silver platter.

Murdoc crossed paths with 2D as he was getting out of the recording booth. 2D jolted at the sight of Murdoc, and in a desperate attempt to avoid him, tripped on his undone shoelaces instead, falling face first on the floor. Murdoc cautiously approached, but 2D, still set on avoiding him, tried to get up as fast as he could. He was not very successful. Murdoc lent him his hand, but 2D turned away, refusing to even look at it.

“Now then Dents, you can't avoid me forever. I'm just trying to help.”

2D scrutinized Murdoc, trying to gauge his sincerity. He made another effort to get up, but his balance was still off, so he reluctantly accepted Murdoc's hand.

“See? That's much better.” 

“ 'm still not talking to you,” 2D muttered, getting back on his way in a hurried fashion. Murdoc noticed that 2D did not tie his shoelaces, though they were why he fell in the first place.

“You won't get far with your shoelaces looking like that,” Murdoc pointed out.

2D stopped walking. His gaze shifted between his shoes and Murdoc, embarrassed.

“You're not gonna tie them?” Murdoc raised an eyebrow.

“I … I can’t do ’em,” 2D admitted. “M’ fingers don’ move like I want’em to.”

So the accidents took a greater toll on 2D than he wanted to admit, Murdoc thought. One thing, however, did not make sense to him:

“Why is it only a problem now?”

“Paula used to help me with that,” 2D said flatly.

Murdoc sighed, inviting 2D to lean on the wall with a wave of the hand while he kneeled down to take care of the shoelaces.

“You don’t need Paula. She’s not worth it” Murdoc tugged at the laces to secure the knot, punctuating his sentence with the motion. “See? She's replaceable. Next time just ask me to do that before you break your face. It would be a shame to disfigure our band’s prettyboy.” 

The gesture, as well as the compliment, boosted 2D’s wounded ego. 

“Okay,” he said.

“How about we call a truce then?” Murdoc suggested. 2D assessed the situation once more. There was nothing about it that led him to believe it was an insincere offer.

“Truce,” 2D accepted with a small smile now gracing his features.

Before they could head back to their respective ways, the doorbell sounded. They went to the entrance together. 2D opened the door and saw no one, only a large FedEx crate. Murdoc wondered if it was some elaborate prank. Before he could say anything however, something moved inside the box.

And then a little girl burst out, playing the most impressive guitar solo Murdoc had ever heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noodle content next chapter! I'm really excited to finish writing it, since we get some softer Murdoc's moments. I don't know how long it will take however, since I don't know yet how many chapters phase 1 and 2 will take me. My estimations were completely thrown off by the fact that this chapter turned out way longer than expected.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please check out my other Gorillaz fics! Also, if you notice any mistakes that escaped proofreading, don't hesitate to tell me.


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